Sweet Delusion
by Firisu
Summary: When Ichigo's inner Hollow really wants something, he gets it, regardless of what it may take. HichiRuki, smut, two-shot.
1. Sweet Delusion

**A/N: Yay, it's my first published smut story! (Hm, should that really be something to celebrate?) Anyway, I wanted to post this before I turn fifteen in two days. Don't ask why; I'm not quite sure myself. ****This is dedicated to all those brilliant IchiRuki/HichiRuki smut writers out there, whose stories have taught me everything I need to know to be able to write this kind of stuff—especially Goku's Daughter since it's her birthday today and she's just a plain awesome writer.**

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**Sweet Delusion**

It's dark.

It's quiet.

Everything's at peace in the midst of night.

At least, in the rest of the Kurosaki house, it is.

But, inside Rukia's—technically, Ichigo's, but what can he do about it?—closet, it's a different story.

Rukia lies flat on her back against the sheets as Ichigo's body hovers over her. His lips capture hers in a crushing kiss, followed by another, and another. His hands travel down her sides to her hips, then to her stomach, and back again. But it isn't Ichigo who's doing this. It is his body—that much she's sure of—but he's not the one in control.

It isn't too hard for her to figure out who is. From the scent, the spiritual pressure and just this feeling she has in her gut, she easily recognises the kind of creature possessing Ichigo's body. There's doubt about it: it's a Hollow.

She doesn't really want to think about the sort of situation she's in right now, but it's not something that's easily avoided. After all, this all feels so surreal—like a dream—that the mind automatically tries to make sense of it by collecting the facts and piecing together everything it knows in an attempt to assure itself that this is, indeed, reality.

Rukia gathers the facts, but finds herself no closer to the truth than she was just a moment ago. It all seems like a muddle of fantasies and illusions as she seeks to get her head around these little details which keep piling up with the progression of time, each ticking of the second hand presenting her with a new image, thought and feeling.

She doesn't know how long this will go on; she doesn't even know if this is actually real. But there sure are some things that are feeling pretty damn real to her at the moment. She lists them out in her head, hoping to shed some light on her mystifying predicament.

There's a _Hollow_ in Ichigo's closet with her.

There's a _Hollow_ kissing her on the mouth and nipping at the sides of her neck.

There's a _Hollow _caressing her flesh and tugging at the hem of her dress.

It's the same Hollow that's making her heartbeat quicken with some unfathomable emotion—anticipation?—and raising goose bumps wherever his skin meets hers. She wants to push him away, yet she wants to pull him closer. She wants to ask him what he's doing here, yet she doesn't want to know. She wants him gone, and yet, her body yearns for his touch. In the end, all she knows is that she doesn't quite know what she wants.

Perhaps she doesn't quite know anything; nothing about this peculiar visitor of hers—his reasons, his motives nor his methods. But it's hard to pinpoint exactly what you don't know if you have no knowledge of it in the first place, so it's all she can do to stay where she is and wait for the Hollow to deliver what it is he has come to deliver. She'll figure the rest out later and plan her course of action from there. For now, however, she doesn't move, leaving the Hollow to his own devices.

He doesn't notice Rukia's deep absorption in her thoughts; he has more important things to occupy his concentration with. He leans in close and breathes her name into the shell of her ear, his breath hot and deliberate on her skin, and she shudders. He takes the opportunity to run his hand sensually up her leg, against her thigh and under the fabric of her nightdress.

She makes a sound that resembles both a hiss and a moan. She doesn't know which she was aiming for; he doesn't particularly care.

His hand journeys its way upwards until it reaches the bare skin of her stomach. And he stops.

He takes his time. He draws patterns on her flesh and traces the outline of her navel. His fingers—not _his_ technically, but close enough—are rough and icy. The movements they make send shivers down her spine. That noise escapes her mouth again, though it sounds closer to a moan this time. He smiles a toothy grin, and continues.

The tips of his fingers snake their way up to her chest as his palm comes to rest against her breast, pushing her bothersome bra out of the way. He feels the hardened nipple beneath his hand and takes it as a good sign. He rubs the tip between his fingers and hopes for the best.

She doesn't disappoint.

Her moans bear no resemblance to that of a hiss anymore, which makes the Hollow quite smug. She doesn't bother to protest—it's pointless, and she knows it.

Aiming to get a further response from her, the Hollow lowers Ichigo's head down to her chest and takes one supple breast into his mouth. He draws his tongue slowly across the skin there, teasing the sensitive flesh around the tip. She arches her back, unconsciously entreating him to continue. He complies, placing his mouth just above her erect nipple, and bites down.

She loses control over herself, her legs now feeling like nothing more than jelly, and doesn't bother suppressing the long, sensual moan that escapes her lips.

The bites continue, travelling from one breast to the other, coupled with sucks and kisses that cause her toes to curl and her hands to clutch at the sheets. Once he grows tired of that, he decides to take a different approach. He pulls his face away from her chest, just slightly, and raises a finger to rest in the valley between her mounds. He then begins to trail it down, ever so slowly, ever so teasingly. She finds herself more and more aware of the uncontrollably hot tension building up in her core the further down his hand travels. The sensation when it reaches the edge of her underwear before swiftly digging under almost sends her over the edge.

He draws his finger through the patch of black curls affectionately—not roughly—quite the contrary from his usual manner of handling things.

But all this gentle petting is just a prelude. The main performance begins, however, when his finger travels further south and stops as it arrives at the slit of her entrance. Even without direct contact, he can feel the wetness leaking out, staining her underwear—and now his finger, too—with her fluids.

Her mind shouts at her to pull away—before this goes any further. But what is she to do? She can't exactly escape, trapped between the closet divider beneath her and Ichigo's tall, strong form above her. Then again, perhaps that's just an excuse; a lie unto one's self.

Perhaps she can't move because she just doesn't _want _to.

Perhaps she's content—more than content, actually—to simply lie here and let the Hollow do what he will.

She doesn't let it show; doesn't let anything but obstinacy shine through her eyes. She hides it all beneath the surface, where she impatiently awaits his next move. Even now, after she's already let it progress this far, she refuses to bring to light her veiled anticipation. She is fully aware that she isn't objecting as strongly to his actions as she knows she should be, yet she doesn't want him catching on to that.

But her lack of resistance is enough to tell the Hollow the words she would never dare speak: he has won.

His fingers itch with the same level of anticipation that he knows she is feeling at this very moment. Neither of them wants to move from their current position, though only one of them would be willing to admit it out loud.

Nevertheless, he will make her admit it. He doesn't care how long it will take; she _will_ be his by the end of it all. He's sure of that.

But, plans for future exploits aside, there's still the matter of the situation at hand.

The Hollow is getting a little impatient. He isn't a fan of waiting; it's just not his thing. So he decides that now's as good a time as ever to begin.

The first movement he makes with his able hands is slow and drawn-out. He presses a finger against the surface of her entrance, sliding it across every curve, every fold, leaving no part of her untouched. By the end of it, his finger's all but soaked in her secretions as the silky, white discharge continues to drain from her body and into his sly hands. He pushes in a little deeper, submerging his finger in more of her fluids. Then, without warning, he shoves the tip of the digit in as far as it will go.

Rukia claws at the sheets beneath her and clenches her teeth. Still, the remnants of her silenced scream come out as a small whimper from between her traitorous lips. The Hollow is enjoying her struggles. So he continues to play his part, hoping she'll follow along and play hers. Now that his finger's inside, it's all a matter of figuring out what will really get her going.

The Hollow is all for trying out new things. And he makes no exception in this case. This is all just a little experiment to him, after all. Although, so far, it seems to be working quite well.

He starts out slow, fuelling her craving for his touch. He's very thorough in his ministrations, giving every inch of her walls equal treatment. But, naturally, he gets impatient again, and decides to help move things along with the addition of another one of his digits.

Rukia lets out a gasp at the feeling of a second finger inside, probing her womanhood with a force that was both aggressive and pleasurable at the same time. By this point, she's all but forgotten why this is so very wrong; all her strength is being put into containing the irrepressible feelings building up in her abdomen. Her mind is swimming with the wild sensations his fingers are sending through her body, and she knows she won't be able to hold it off much longer.

Just a few short seconds later, she's fast approaching her peak. She can't deny it: the fingers inside her are doing a damn good job. They're rough and succinct but not intending to cause any pain; instead, they seem to know exactly how hard to press to send her head spinning with undiluted pleasure.

Moments after, her walls are caving in tight around his fingers and preparing itself for the finale.

She comes in a wave of hot, wet secretion. When the Hollow finally withdraws Ichigo's fingers from within her, he finds them covered to the tip with her milky extracts. Seizing the opportunity now, he lowers his head to her sex and positions his lips at her entrance. He opens his mouth and blows at her opening, eliciting a hitched breath and a violent shudder from Rukia. He goes on to seal the sides of his jaw around her cleft, thrusting out his adroit tongue to taste her.

After receiving several potent and fulfilling licks from the warm, wet muscle in his mouth, she's instinctively arching herself towards him, begging his tongue—or another part of his body, for that matter—to penetrate deeper inside her. She finally moves the hands that have been dormant at her sides this whole time and weaves them into Ichigo's prickly orange locks. She moans and pulls him closer, only craving his touch now and registering nothing else.

He smirks then, knowing his job is done. And so, he pulls away, leaving Rukia exceedingly unsatisfied and frustrated with his retreat. He flashes an impish smile at her, relaying the message that he will be back. Despite his size and demeanour, he is swift and agile in manoeuvring the closet door and departing without leaving a single trace of his little visit—well, except for Rukia's dishevelled appearance and the condition of her nightwear.

She lies there motionless against the pile of sheets, trying to grasp in her mind what just happened between her and Ichigo—or rather, between her and Ichigo's inner Hollow. In the end, she fools herself into believing it was all a cross between a dream and a hallucination, and falls into unconsciousness yet again, hoping she may relive that sweet delusion once more.

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**A/N: I would appreciate advice on improving my smut-writing skills as it is something I am not personally familiar with. Anyway, there'll be a full lemon in the next chapter, which shall be the conclusion to this two-shot that was originally a one-shot, though I haven't exactly done much work on that yet...**


	2. Bitter Reality

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I won't make up excuses about how much homework I have these school holidays; I'll just leave you to your reading.**

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**Bitter Reality**

The next morning, Rukia awakes much later than usual. She glances at the time on her soul pager and wonders why Ichigo hasn't yet yelled and banged his fists against the closet door to wake her up for school.

She decides to leave the comfort of her makeshift quarters and see for herself.

As soon as her eyes adjust to the brightly-coloured sunlight streaming in through the windows in Ichigo's room, she notices the orange-haired boy is still in bed, sleeping on his side with his back toward her.

She finds it odd; she hardly ever sees him sleep in, and when he does, it's either on the weekend or a holiday. She walks up to the side of the bed and reaches out to tap his shoulder—just to make sure he is really asleep.

Suddenly, he flips onto his other side and captures Rukia's wrist in his strong fingers, pulling her down to his level. She gasps at the unexpected grip on her arm and falls to her knees on the floor, strands of hair falling in front of her eyes and obscuring her view of his face.

"_Rukia._"

She freezes. That voice; it isn't Ichigo's.

So she looks up, the strands of black falling back to the sides of her face, and sees them: the bright yellow irises of a Hollow. She doesn't know what to say.

"Shocked?" he asks.

"What have you done with Ichigo?" She tries to pull her wrist back, but he won't let her out of his hold that easily.

"Why should it matter?" He draws her arm closer, forcing her to come face to face with him. "We don't need him anymore, do we, my dear Rukia?"

She glares long and hard at the Hollow before her. "Bring him back."

"Oh, but you see, Rukia," he says, "King doesn't want to come back. He saw everything that happened between us last night and he knows that"—he leans close to whisper in her ear—"he can't please you the way I can."

In one swift motion, he clutches Rukia's neck and brings her in for a heated kiss on the lips. Then, before she can stop him, he throws her onto the bed and positions his legs on either side of her hips, his hands down on the pillow trapping Rukia's face and keeping her still. It's now that she notices he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and she's sure she knows what he wants. "Get off of me," she hisses.

He lowers his lips to her neck and plants a soft kiss on the skin of her throat. "Now, now, Rukia," he purrs, "is that really what you want to say?"

She grits her teeth. "I want you gone."

"Oh, is that so?" In an attempt to break through her stubborn tenacity, he bites down on the smooth, pale flesh. She shivers at the touch. "I don't think you really mean that, Rukia dear," he mocks. It's not as if he's giving her any say in the matter, but it's fun to see her mad, so he continues his goading as his lips travel down her neck to her shoulders, leaving quick nips and pecks in his wake. "King told me a lot about you," he says.

"I don't want to hear it." She squirms under him, but his marks reach her nonetheless. He lifts his hands to pull the straps of her nightdress off her slender shoulders, before discarding of the material hindrance altogether.

"It's true," he replies. She pretends not to hear.

Next to come off is her bra, which is also removed in such a swift and efficient fashion that Rukia herself realises it's happening two seconds too late—not that she could've done anything about it anyway.

And then, in between lowering himself to her erect nipples and sucking them dry, the Hollow continues their little discussion. "Of course, King didn't actually _tell_ me anything, but sharing a body with someone gives you a pretty good idea of what they're thinking. And unsurprisingly, most of his thoughts are about you." He moves his hand to the edge of her panties and slowly pulls down the soft, silken fabric, little by little, until they're no longer a barrier to her concealed womanhood.

Rukia shudders at his actions, feeling the skin around her inner thighs dampen with her essence. She knows it's impossible to hide the way his caresses arouse such heated emotions in her—especially like this, when the proof is seeping openly from her entrance and making his eyes glimmer with sly intentions.

Casually, without effort, he inserts a finger into her slick opening; her breath catches in her throat. He strokes her walls with his touch as he once again resumes the conversation. "It's a shame, you know," he says. "King really cared for you. But it was those very feelings that became his downfall."

She's too tense trying to maintain control over herself to respond. The discussion has now become a one-sided monologue on his part, though he doesn't really mind as long as he knows she's still listening. "I'm quite good at getting what I want, if I do say so myself," he boasts. "And taking control of this body was hardly a challenge at all. King is so predictable, always going on and on about what he wants to protect. So, you see, Rukia, this was all quite easy, actually."

"Easy?" she manages to force out between gritted teeth.

"Yes," he says, relaxed as ever, "because if Kurosaki Ichigo can't protect his friends, he can't do anything. And he obviously wasn't doing a very good job of protecting you from me last night—or now, for that matter." To illustrate his point, he puts more pressure into the movements his fingers are creating inside her, making it ever harder for her not to release the built-up tension in her core.

With as much fun as he's having, the Hollow's really feeling the heat now, too. He withdraws his fingers, much to her unspoken displeasure, and brings them to the waistband of his boxer shorts. It doesn't take long—only a second—for him to rid himself of the last of the clothing masking the bare extent of his body (he doesn't have to think of it as Ichigo's anymore; it's all his now).

His pulsing erection throbs with desire; the sheer sight of it is enough to make Rukia's eyes widen with something akin to panic. He likes that expression on her; he grins. "Where's King to protect his precious treasure now?" He doesn't wait any longer. He parts her folds with his fingers before bringing closer his engorged organ.

"S—stop," she manages to squeak out.

He raises an eyebrow, amused at her feeble attempt at a protest. "'Stop,' you say? But why would I, when I'm having so much fun? Don't worry, though," he says. "I'm sure you'll enjoy this, too."

That's as much warning as he gives before sliding his member inside her tight opening and then slamming in with full force.

She screams and digs her nails into the sheets below. It hurts; he's too big—too much for her petite body to contain. She writhes and thrashes on the bed, trying to alleviate the acute discomfort between her hips.

Sensing her pain and agony, the Hollow eases his motions, slowly pulling in and out in a steady rhythm. After all, he doesn't want to break the girl; he wants to prove a point to his king.

Even after he lessens the force, however, it still hurts. Every thrust is like another thorn in her side; she doesn't know how much longer she can take it. She struggles against his motions, trying to put as much space between them as possible. It's no use, of course; he has her right where he wants her, and he's not letting her go. "Don't fight it," he says. "Just play along."

_Impossible, _she thinks. And, as if he can somehow read her thoughts, he laughs, manic and arrogant.

She wants to rip that smirk right off his face; she wants to send him to the depths of Hueco Mundo where he belongs; she wants to—

Her thoughts are sharply cut off by the piercing feel of him plunging into her once again. She grits her teeth and waits for it all to be over.

After a while, though, the pain is gradually fading to the back of her mind, replaced by a much stronger sensation. She refuses to acknowledge it as pleasure, but can't find another way to describe it.

At some point in time, without her even noticing, she stops resisting. She moans and arches and welcomes the feel of his ample member inside her core. She doesn't think; she only aches for the fulfilment her body so badly wants—no, _needs_.

Following another incredible thrust, Rukia unconsciously grabs hold of his back, forcing his body ever closer to hers. He, in turn, pushes deeper inside her, gratifying her uncontrollable lust and longing for the thick organ penetrating her inner walls. Her nails are digging hard into his skin by now, but he doesn't care; in his mind, pain and pleasure go hand in hand.

It's not too long before he feels his climax fast approaching. He pulls back a little and then rams himself back in, only to have his seed spill inside her the instant after.

The renewed heat and friction send Rukia over the edge, too, and she finds herself succumbing to the overwhelming orgasm that engulfs her being. Just like the night before, she has entirely lost sight of the severity of her wretched sin and all she can think about is the blinding white pleasure that threatens to swallow her whole.

They don't move from where they are, even after the moment of exhilarating ecstasy has passed. They both have their reasons, though hers doesn't match up with his and vice versa.

Rukia's sense of judgement eventually returns to her, bit by bit, and she's left too stunned to move or speak. Never mind that the force of their sinful deeds has left her muscles sore and aching; the physical aftermath doesn't register as strongly as the emotional. She lies there beneath him, letting her mind slowly catch up to reality.

As for the Hollow, with the ferocity and stamina of a beast, he's not the least bit burdened by exhaustion. He doesn't pull out his hefty, limp organ; he keeps it inside her as he reaches down to stroke her delicate jaw line. "My dear Rukia," he says, "do you really think King will want to come back after that?" He smirks. "Think again." He captures her lips in a kiss once more, and mumbles against them, "He's not here anymore; I am."

As he lowers himself to her and takes her for the second time, she knows now that this isn't just a figment of her imagination.

This is reality.

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**A/N: So, I have officially written and posted smut. *ticks that off the list* Now, I just need to incorporate it into an actual story...**


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